My Turn
by FieryEclipse
Summary: Now that they're back in the real world with other people around, Sylar can't keep Peter all to himself. He's not happy about it, but isn't that what this new, reformed life is supposed to be about? Doing the selfless thing? Even if that means he might have to spend the holidays alone? (New Year's Eve, Pining, longing, fluff, cute, male slash, post-Wall, post-series)


**A/N:** I'm dedicating this story to my good friend Graysonation X) Love you cookie, I'm forever grateful for your friendship and I wish you the happiest New Year for 2018!

 **My Turn**

Sylar had missed Peter terribly. He'd resented having to spend his first Christmas back in the real world alone. Finally, the city was _alive_ and _musical_ and _awaiting_ them to get into the thick of it all at last!

But Sylar had insisted Peter spend the day with _her,_ instead. Because he knew the soft-hearted empath really wanted to after five long years apart, and that he just felt guilty leaving Sylar behind in an empty apartment. Secretly, Sylar had wanted to go too, but when Peter had invited him under the naïve illusion that "Christmas is the time for making peace", he had politely declined. He didn't much fancy sitting in a confined space all day with Angela Petrelli and alcohol and many sharp carving utensils.

So he let Peter go. Now that they were no longer prisoners, who was he to keep the guy all to himself? To hold him back when he had more to live for than just his former cellmate? That wasn't to say Sylar liked it one bit, and that he didn't hate himself afterwards for being so gracious. It was the right thing to do though, and wasn't that what this new, reformed life was supposed to be all about? Doing the selfless thing? Even if that meant he might have to spend every holiday alone?

He couldn't believe it when Peter returned to him on Christmas evening. Wielding that adorable smile and rosy cheeks and a tub of leftovers to split between them, Sylar's better half marched back into his life like he'd never even left in the first place. And that was when this intelligent superhuman realised something new: maybe Peter's past and present could coexist in harmony?

Upon the immense struggle of relearning how to navigate reality, and discovering how difficult it was to be good all the time – for the very first time in his life... Sylar had to learn to share.

Come New Year's Eve, he had geared himself up for another abandonment while Peter saw in the new year with the, ahem, leftovers of his family. Really, Sylar didn't mind too much though. This was a celebration he usually let slide past without fuss, especially the past few years of eternal torment. But of course, Peter had his holiday traditions and that soft spot for hope and cheer and everything mushy. Lately Sylar had been fine with the chiming of his many time pieces and a toast with a recovered bottle of something they couldn't even get drunk from. Doing nothing wouldn't be _too_ much of a step down, he reassured himself.

But Peter has other ideas. And Sylar is hardly going to argue with that.

It's a surprise, he says. You'll see when we get there. He smiles that infuriating, lovable smile that means he knows something Sylar doesn't, and for some reason the former killer lets himself be walked over and talked into putting himself blindly in a situation he knows nothing about. He blames it on love, which can conquer even the best of minds and has well and truly taken his hostage.

It can hardly be torture, right? Whatever Peter has planned that makes him happier than eating candy and drinking champagne and cheering as the ball drops with his evil shrew of a mother can't possibly be bad.

Sylar has his doubts, but he keeps them to himself and just holds Peter's hand as the empath guides him through the air. Sylar only peeks twice as he flies, enough to see that he's very high up and that there are millions of lights sprawled out below. Mostly though, he behaves.

Together, they venture higher until the air gets thinner and Sylar is sure he can feel the wetness of clouds pressing upon his face. Then they stop, hovering weightlessly. Sylar can hear a muted buzz of noise from the ground a mile away, but he can't make enough sense of it to single out any sounds. Aside from the distant rumble, there is only wind whispering in his ear. Sylar can tell the rest of the sky is empty. He knows he's alone up here, alone with the only person he even wants to be with anyway.

"Can I look now?" He pretends to sound irritated, but he doesn't quite manage.

"No, not yet." Peter insists, his fingers gently squeezing Sylar's.

He sounds flushed with excitement and anticipation, and Sylar wants to witness the look on his face so badly that he purposely breaks the rules and opens his eyes just to see him. For a second Peter is the image of pure bliss: his eyes reflecting the crescent moon above, his lips unable not to smile although it's too soon, and that fantastic head of hair flowing around his face like it's been drawn to look that good.

Then he sees he's being gazed at like no one's business, and laughs. "Hey! You're cheating!"

"Yes." Sylar doesn't care. Even if he couldn't fly he's sure he'd still have floated away at the lightness bursting within his heart. This is _so_ much better than the lonely evening he had envisaged for this evening.

Sylar forgets what day it is, where he is and why he's even there in the first place. He doesn't care about the rest of the world at all, and he wonders why he ever wanted to join in in the first place. So what that for once there will be life and colour and joy and a worldwide event that they can simply be spectators of instead of putting into play? Somehow, none of it seems to matter right now.

"You'll distract me." Peter huffs, but he doesn't look away or pull back when Sylar lures him closer through the air.

"Oops." Is all he says. He's close enough now to almost brush chests with the smaller man. They're poised amongst clouds as easily as if they're standing toe to toe on the pavement, only their clothes billow around them and they rock as if on the tide. Practically purring like the cat that got the cream, Sylar takes this chance to sift his free hand through the other man's soft mane, stroking it away from that face. The better to see it in all its perfect glory.

"I'm not missing this cause of you." Peter insists. Sylar just grins at his partner in crime, and said partner can't help but grin right back at him. Then he shoves Sylar back with what's definitely a giggle worthy of a teenager, and when the world stops spinning and he once again recovers his balance, Peter is gone.

It only takes a moment to find him up ahead, a dark smudge racing away against the backdrop of inky sky and stars. Chuckling, Sylar takes up chase.

Two silhouettes twirl and sway and laugh and play in the night's sky all alone, sharing the world's highest ever game of tag. They leave trails in the clouds, they could spell out their names if they wanted to, but all Sylar wants is to claim his prize. Peter is faster but Sylar is smarter, and so he uses intuition to best his opponent, cutting him off at the swell of a turn.

He captures the smaller body in his arms, carrying him like the big kid he really is. Peter pants and squirms but can't keep a straight face. "Stop it, we're gonna miss -!"

But then Peter promptly shuts up and looks directly below them. His face is shocked, scared and exhilarated all at once, and so of course Sylar has to follow suit. He doesn't understand what he's looking at though, until Peter draws regeneration from him, grows heavier in his arms, and an exceptionally loud roar from below precedes a scream as shrill as a whistle.

Then a blazing web of brilliant red fire erupts around them with a BANG!

Sylar gapes, awestruck by such beauty. He continues to stare as the next firework explodes, then another, and another, until he's closed in on all sides by burning trails of coloured flame that dance and swim through the sky. It's surreal. Gorgeous. Sylar never even realised until now that after nearly a decade in hell, he forgot what fireworks look like... although this isn't a fair comparison. No one outside this fiery cage will ever behold such a sight, and no one else probably has. Vibrant streaks of colour cascade around him, one after the other after another, they illuminate the clouds in blurry bursts of fire, crackling so close to Sylar he can _feel_ them, and yet not once is he afraid.

He turns back to see Peter with light caressing his vision. The younger man is breathtaking; honest eyes stunning above high cheekbones and the sweetest little cushion of a mouth that turns up at the corner, just for Sylar. He shimmers beneath the flashing rainbow lights and the heat that cocoons the pair, smiling up at the watchmaker like he hasn't even noticed the ongoing display around them.

"Happy New Year."

The echoing bangs are too loud to speak over, but Sylar can read the words on those perfectly imperfect lips before he leans in and they gently encase his own. The men hold each other close, Sylar tasting smoke and gunpowder on the tip of Peter's tongue, feeling waves of warmth washing across his body from both the kiss and smouldering ribbons of fire that surround him. It's enough to make even a superhero lightheaded.

...Okay, so maybe mushy New Year's Eve celebrations aren't the _worst_ thing. Maybe sharing Peter won't be so bad? It doesn't have to mean he will find something better and someone he loves more and will forget Sylar. He can't picture it anymore, anyway. He'd like to see someone try to upstage _this_ with wine and chocolate or whatever the fuck normal people are supposed to do in relationships. Not that it matters to them when _this_ one is anything but normal.

Sylar greedily drinks in Peter's kiss until a firework bursts into being a little too near for comfort. Although neither of them can be burned, Sylar carries Peter to a safer distance and they laugh together although it shouldn't be funny at all.

Sylar still can't hear a thing past the cannonfire in his ears, but he whispers anyway, as best he can around the smile splitting his face in two. "Happy New Year, Peter."

He can't remember why he was so upset before about Christmas. Or why he ever wanted to mingle with the rest of the world that doesn't want him anyway. He doesn't even hate Angela right then, or mind in the slightest that Peter will leave when the sun rises to spend the day with her instead of him.

Because, even just for right now, it's Sylar's turn to have him.

 **A/N:** Hey guys, here's the little new year's fic I promised before, I hope you enjoyed it! This is written a bit differently than my usual style, but it was fun to experiment with it X)Also, this isn't supposed to be a part of my Tongues of Fire canon, in case anyone was wondering XP

This is an idea that I've been thinking about for aaaaages. Every time I see fireworks I think "wow, how amazing would it be to be up there in the middle of them, unable to get hurt, somehow able to fly without a plane, and just watch it all happen around you?" And guess which two of my favourite boys happen to be able to fit that criteria perfectly...?

Anyway, another cute little holiday oneshot – because we can never have too many X) Please stay tuned for more Peter and Sylar in the near future. Until then – Happy New Year!


End file.
